Seige of the School
by Daydream1
Summary: Unable to comprehend that schooltime means there's less time to write stories, the Knights accompany a young authoress to her school to find out what could possibly be more important than they are.


Disclaimer: I don't own King Arthur. I've been on for four years now, and I have yet to gave ownership over any of my multiple obsessions. Why should King Arthur be any different:o)

A/N: No one freak out, I will be continuing my other story, 'One of Their Own'. This has just been niggling at me for some time so I decided to indulge myself. ;o) Enjoy!

**CHAPTER ONE:**

"**"Daydream had a Bunch of Knights..."**

The tip of my pencil tapped against the paper, making a little graphite dot that reminded me of a squashed ant. Procrastinating through the art of creativity, I drew squiggly legs on the dot and a mini-speech bubble that said 'AND SO IT HAS COME TO THIS! URGH!' out to the side. Mrs. Evans, my Pre-Cal teacher, was going to be real happy about that. Of course, she probably wouldn't get the humor so I'd get points taken off for doodling on my homework. I grinned at my stupidity then bopped my forehead against my math book with a pitiful groan. If I didn't hurry up, I was going to be pulling my fourth late-nighter in a row. I looked with theatrical despair at the pile of homework around me. Four notebooks for Pre-Cal, AP US History, AP English, and Marching Band, three text books for the core classes, a novel for English class, and my big, honkin' French Horn case for music practice. It was all laid out around me like a hedge, a fence, a wall…oh NO! I clapped both hands to my head, my eyes widening at my fatal mistake. Not a wall! I shook my head wildly, trying to dispel the thought. Thinking about walls would lead to thinking about a certain wall starting with an 'H' which would ultimately lead to-

"What is all this rubbish, Day?" Galahad asked suspiciously, picking up my English book between his forefinger and thumb like it was a dead, decaying animal. He, his heavy armor, and his buttload of weapons were now perched on my French Horn case. I leaned over and took the book from his unappreciative grip.

"Get up, you're gonna crush my French Horn," I ordered, trying to gather all my homework together and put it in a safe place, aka under the couch. When my muses decide to visit, they tend to destroy things, especially homework which sucks because I can't just go up to my teacher and say, 'You've heard of King Arthur, right? Well, I was trying to teach him the Macarena last night and he just stomped all over my essay cause he has two left feet and he's just hopeless…'

I groaned as the rest of the knights appeared out of thin air. They promptly started making themselves at home like they had been doing since the beginning of summer vacation. They haven't gotten it into their heads yet that school's in session now and I can't listen to their story ideas all the time. My other muses, like the Newsies and the Lord of the Rings group understand this, but not the Knights. As you can probably tell by now, my muses, or strikes of creative genius in the imagined form of my obsessions, are not as tame as others; they frequently appear in tangible form whenever I start daydreaming, which is often. Hence the nickname Daydream…

"You're going to study yourself to death," Lancelot declared drolly. He picked up a pear as he sat down on a stool at the island in the kitchen. He propped his feet up on the other stool. His gorgeous, loss-yourself-in-them brown eyes glanced over the pear at me. Darn you, Fate, if only he wasn't imaginary! "It isn't healthy."

"Oh, shut up." I tossed my pencil at him. He caught it in midair, snapped it in half with one hand, and smirked. I rolled my eyes in exasperation. "Arrogant showoff."

"Foolish scholar," he retorted and, finding the pear satisfactory, bit into it. Arthur, who was leaning against the island, frowned at his friend.

"Just because Daydream wishes to better herself through studies does not mean she is foolish," he said, his unblinking gaze daring Lancelot to argue. They love to fuss with each other. I think that's when they're the happiest, when they're yelling at each other. Lancelot tapped his forefinger against a sheet of paper on the island. I recognized it as an old Pre-cal quiz and grimaced. Why was _that _out in plain sight?

"Look at that and tell me she is not insane." Arthur skimmed it, flicked his eyes at me then back at the paper.

"Insanity and foolishness are two separate ailments…"

Deciding that I didn't want to hear the rest of that conversation, I stood up from my spot on the floor and kicked the rest of my homework under the couch. That was good enough for now. I shoved Galahad's shoulder as I walked by, reminding him silently to get off my instrument case. He grinned and didn't move. Jerk.

"I think Lancelot's got the right of it," he chimed, tapping his fingertips experimentally on the hard, black plastic of the case. He hadn't seen the case before, though he had played with the instrument. It took a lot of explaining to my band teacher about how the bell had been almost crushed, as if it had been thrown against a wall in a fit of frustration. Well, it hadn't been a wall, it had actually been Dagonet's chest but since Dag is pure Sarmatian muscle and armor-covered, he might as well be a wall. I frowned at Galahad.

"You're agreeing with him?" I jerked my thumb at Lancelot. "How odd."

"What's odd," Gawain began as he started flipping through TV channels, "is that you're completely ignoring us. We haven't been over here in ages." He was sitting on the couch next to the silent Dagonet while Bors claimed the La-Z-Boy.

"Stop exaggeratin'," I replied with a bit of a snap. My late-nighter was going to become an all-nighter if I didn't get back to work. "You came over a couple weeks ago. I wrote a bit, remember?"

"We were here for all of two seconds before you shooed us away." He looked over the back of the couch. "Do we bore you now, Daydream?"

"You're exaggeratin' again!" I accused, pointing my finger at him. "And you don't bore me. You just distract me." I suddenly grinned. How could having a group of mostly entirely sizzling hot guys possibly bore me?

"Turn it to that warrior woman," demanded Bors, waving a hand at the TV. He was the couch potato of the group. He sorta reminds me of those fat guys who sit around in their underwear and watch football all the time. "She's got the curves, that one, and a fiery spirit." He licked his lips. "Just the way I like 'em. Rough and wild."

"You know that Xena wears Woad-ish clothes, right?" I commented, though I knew no one cared what I thought. My in-put is seriously not held in high regard. Maybe I should grunt like a pig, learn to kill people in the most barbaric fashion, and stop bathing. Then maybe they'll listen to me.

"Her little blonde friend isn't that bad either. Probably a lioness in bed," supplied Galahad excitedly from the instrument case as Gawain started looking for Xena: Warrior Princess.

"Guys!" I shook my head. The TV was poisoning their already dirty minds. "I told y'all, keep the nastiness to a low yuck, please?"

Bors, ignored me (surprise, surprise) and goaded Galahad some more (oh, look, another surprise).

"And what would you know of ladies in bed, pup?"

"I have had my share of women, Bors!" Galahad shouted, obviously angry with the mocking of his manliness. "I should say that I've had more variety than you, at the least." Bors grew red with rage as the younger knight continued. "I didn't have to bind one woman to me with a multitude of bastards."

"Why you-"

"Alright, stop it!" I snapped, interrupting Bors and the escalating fight. I put my fists on my hips and stood in the middle of the living room, trying to look imposing. Which is really hard to do when everyone else in the room is an awesome cool knight complete with personalized pointy object and a head taller than you. I'm so pathetic. "Look, y'all have to go. Like now." They all turned to look at me. "I have homework."

"So this 'homework'," Lancelot made the word sound like a disease, bless him, "is what's keeping you from writing about us?" He eyed the pile of papers and books I had shoved under the couch.

"It shouldn't be difficult to dispose of," Tristan commented as he shut the refrigerator door, holding a chunk of cheddar cheese. He had, as usual, been freakishly quiet until now. "A fire would do it." I stared at him, my mouth slack and my eyes huge circles of stressed-out terror. My expression must have been pretty funny because Lancelot and Arthur tried to hide their smiles to no avail.

"Oh my God, Tristan, don't you _dare!_" I warned, my arms flying around as I tried to express my seriousness through a frenzy of motion. I guess my thought was that if my words didn't get through to him, at least my body language might. "Do you know how much work I put into that stuff? I'd die," I declared dramatically. "I would just fall on the floor and die."

"Well, we wouldn't want that," Lancelot snickered in a tone that seemed faintly sarcastic.

"Look, you," I snarled and whirled on him. "I'm gonna start planning your death fic!" I continued before he could say anything. "And it's not going to be all honor-ish and nobly crap like in the movie or the other stories. I'm going to have you die of an infected hangnail or something! But first, I shall have you horribly disfigured and spurned by females everywhere! Take that, Lancelot the Womanizer! MWAHA!" I cackled at the shocked look on his devilishly handsome face. "See, evil is not beyond me."

While I was coming up with the perfect ending for Lancelot's life, Galahad had gotten off my French Horn case. He rifled through my homework that he had pulled out from under the couch then held up the US History book and the English book again.

"Is this some sort of punishment?" he asked, weighing them in his hands like he was a scale.

"More like promoted slavery," I replied and flopped down on the couch beside Gawain. They must have bathed recently; the house wasn't filling up with unbearable stench and Gawain only smelled of sweat and earth, not blood. The bear-like blonde knight chuckled softly and gave me a wry look.

"You have no idea what slavery is, little scholar," he said and I regretted my choice of words. These guys would know far more about slavery than I did. I shrugged.

"Okay, so maybe not slavery." I glanced up at him with narrowed eyes. "Would torture be more appropriate?"

"No," Dagonet put in. I perked up and regarded him with full attention. Since Dagonet only talks when he has something important to say, your attention was a requirement. "We would never allow you to be tortured."

"Then I suppose you're going to go destroy my school or something?" I asked with a bit of a sardonic snort, but it gave me the warm fuzzies to know they liked me enough to want to protect me.

"If we do, will you write more stories about me-I mean, us?" Lancelot asked, suddenly involved in the conversation. I laughed.

"Sure. I'll do whatever you want."

"Then it is done," he said, slapping a hand on the island. I turned and frowned at him over the back of the couch.

"Huh?"

"We shall lay siege to your school and therefore save the fair damsel Daydream!" He grinned, a truly gorgeous expression on him. "It is a plan of sheer brilliance on my behalf."

"Oh, the cleverness of you," I grumbled before I could stop myself. I waved a hand in the air. "I was just kidding, Lancelot." He kept on grinning. "You know, not being serious. And I'm flattered that you think me as a fair maiden." I batted my eyes playfully at him. I really was flattered. It's not everyday an imaginary hottie compliments you. Arthur looked at me. Well, more like stared since Arthur never just looks. If he does, it's a very intent look.

"We could at least explore this school of yours," he mused slowly. I stared back at him. "It may help us to understand why you can no longer spend your time with us." I got up from the couch, holding up both hands.

"Whoa, no. Are you crazy?" I shouted. The other knights seemed to like Arthur's idea. And they thought I was nuts. "Y'all cannot come to my school."

"Why not?" asked Galahad, "You said no one could see us but you. What could it hurt?"

"What if I forget I'm the only one who can see you?" I snapped. I started pacing back and forth, my hands fluttering about my head as I came up with a rant of an excuse. "I might start talking to you and then everyone will think I've finally flipped my lid!" I shook my head and crossed my arms, trying to look defiant despite their triumphant smirks. "Look, I'm the authoress here and my decision is final! AND STOP THAT SMILING!"


End file.
